


Echoes of a Life Undeserved

by Ariana (ariana_paris)



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Implied Peter Petrelli/Elle Bishop, Lactation Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-10
Updated: 2010-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-12 12:25:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1186184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariana_paris/pseuds/Ariana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sylar acquires the power to visit parallel universes. He stumbles across one where the 2007 eclipse had a very different outcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Echoes of a Life Undeserved

**Author's Note:**

>  Partly inspired by [](http://dragynflies.livejournal.com/profile)[dragynflies](http://dragynflies.livejournal.com/)' KB icons. Thank you to [](http://creepylicious.livejournal.com/profile)[creepylicious](http://creepylicious.livejournal.com/) for betaing and reminding me that even gay boys are still boys.

Sylar focussed his mind on a corner of the warehouse, unsure what this power would do. In the past, he had usually acquired abilities after observing his victim for a while or reading about their power in a file; save a couple of mishaps like the mistake at the Union Wells Homecoming, he liked to perform thorough research and know what he was getting before striking. But now he was supposed to take the power first and then work out what it did later.

The mousy woman whose ability he had acquired that morning didn’t know why bright rectangles appeared near her whenever she thought of her recently deceased husband. Peter thought Sylar was just the man to find out.

“I don’t know what the power does,” said Sylar, still a little miffed at being asked to do this at all. “I guess this method doesn’t work after all.”

Peter dismissed that statement with a wave of his hand. “Hiding away in our apartment isn’t the way to prove you’re cured. You need to learn to use your special ability for a greater purpose. Experiencing a power like this is the only way to really understand it so we can explain it to its owner.”

“Why couldn’t you do this yourself?” grumbled Sylar.

“Because I don’t have Intuitive Aptitude,” said Peter sharply. “You don’t only acquire powers; you analyse them, you understand how they work. I never did. You took Claire’s power and immediately realised it made you both immortal. Neither Claire nor I ever guessed that.”

“Well, to be fair, you’re not the sharpest tools in the box, either of you,” said Sylar, though he preened a little at the praise. Peter was like a conscientious parent sometimes, lauding the least of Sylar’s achievements. Sylar loved it. “Okay. Another go.”

After Claire’s revelation to the rest of the world, there were plenty of specials looking for answers and hoping to develop their powers. Peter, ever the bleeding heart, had set up a helpline within a few weeks of the carnival showdown. He gave out their home phone number, so Sylar kept picking up while Peter was at work and having to help specials with their abilities. And Peter was right; Sylar did understand abilities better than anyone else.

“I think they’re portals,” said Sylar finally, after creating another shiny rectangle. “They… Something about them changes depending on what I’m thinking. A subtle shift each time.”

“Portals, huh?” Peter picked up a rusty bolt lying on the ground and threw it at Sylar’s latest rectangle. The bolt disappeared. “Right again. I wonder where they lead.” Peter walked over to the now empty space and looked around. He gave Sylar a crooked smile. “You wanna make another one and see what’s on the other side?”

“Yes. But I’ll see what’s there on my own,” said Sylar. He knew Peter’s penchant for heroics too well.

“I have Claire’s power,” said Peter, flicking his bangs out of his eyes. “And a gun. And you. I’ll be safe.”

Sylar ran his hand through his own long hair and gave a melodramatic sigh.

“Yes. You’ll be safe… right here,” he said. “I’ll go through on my own. It could be anything. A time portal, a gateway to another planet, a vor--” He interrupted himself; Peter was bound to freak out at the mention of a vortex. “I’ll just see and come straight back, okay?”

“If this is you being all self-sacrificing and heroic, you can forget it.” Peter leaned forward, performing his usual trick of standing about four inches away to have a serious conversation. “I’m coming with you.”

“Me, self-sacrificing and heroic?” said Sylar with amusement. He poked Peter in the chest. “You: self-sacrificing and heroic. Me: self-serving and not going to let the only person who gives a crap about me get killed. You’re staying here.”

Peter gave him a grudging smile. It struck Sylar once more how incredibly lucky he was to have Peter in his life, even though he recognised that the relationship also fed Peter’s own needs. It was part of the drive that had made him work unnecessarily long hours as a hospice nurse and paramedic; the same urge that still made him listen in on police frequencies and drag Sylar out into the night.

Peter had a pathological need to save people. Sylar was desperate to be saved. The years alone together had constructed a bridge between them, built on sexual gratification and eventually mutual respect. Sylar’s obsessive nature had turned his regard for Peter into romantic love; Peter, surprisingly, had made the same thing out of his need to be someone’s hero. Sylar was too intelligent to believe that this was healthy -- he was sure even Peter could see the flaws in their mutual dependence -- but it made him happier than he ever remembered being and that was enough for now.

“Aw, I didn’t know you cared,” said Peter with mock seriousness.

“I just care about my mental equilibrium now I’m loose on the world again.” Sylar lifted his hand to test the ability once more, but hesitated. “You’re sure this isn’t dangerous, letting me take abilities again?”

“Mrs Cummings needs to know what her ability does and you’re the only one who can analyse it,” said Peter calmly. “I’d offer to take IA from you to do it myself, but I’d still have to take her power to analyse it properly and then it would just be me and my ‘unsharp’ brain. Besides, IA didn’t work out so well for me last time.”

“It’s a bitch of an ability to have,” agreed Sylar.

Sylar thought briefly about the future where Peter had acquired that power. Peter had told him about the reformed Gabriel Gray living in the Bennets’ house, and the little boy he had been raising. Given his current proclivities, it seemed unlikely that Sylar would have a child of his own any time soon. As he sometimes did, he wondered who little Noah’s mother had been. He had a theory about that and if he thought about it too much, it made his heart ache to breaking point.

Dismissing the thought, Sylar returned to the task at hand. He kissed Peter briefly.

“I promise I’ll come back.”

With that, he froze Peter telekinetically and simultaneously opened a portal, running through before Peter could react.

* * * * *

The other side of the portal was just the same. Aside from a tremor that shook all Sylar’s finely tuned supernatural senses, it was as if he had simply walked a few feet towards the window. The warehouse was identical; dirty windows, unpolished concrete walls, rusty nuts and bolts strewn across the floor.

“Doesn’t look like it--” started Sylar, before turning around and realising that Peter wasn’t there.

Maybe the portal really had led him somewhere else. He had a moment’s misgiving; what if he couldn’t go back? His stomach churned at the idea of Peter being alone in the warehouse, waiting in vain for Sylar to return. Sylar lifted his hand, preparing to open a new portal and hoping it would take him back, when it occurred to him that he should at least attempt to ascertain what had happened.

He went over to the window. The street outside looked the same, lined with different cars, but otherwise unchanged. Wherever he was, things were pretty much the same. It wasn’t until his eye fell on a half torn poster on the wall opposite that Sylar realised where he was.

It was a picture of Nathan Petrelli smiling benevolently out of a red and blue poster. The caption simply said “Petrelli for President”.

Sylar blinked, thoughts of Peter all but forgotten as the need to understand this mystery clouded his senses. He rushed outside and walked around; there were more ‘Petrelli for President’ posters in adjoining streets. Sylar bought a paper and it filled in the blanks. Nathan Petrelli was alive and specials were under threat from the government after Claire outed them exactly as she had done in his timeline. It was a parallel universe, but not far removed from his own.

Grinning now that the mystery was solved, Sylar tucked the newspaper under his arm and headed back towards the warehouse. Provided he could get back, he would be able to tell Mrs Cummings that her gift was opening portals to another universe. It might not serve any practical purpose, but at least she would know.

He was lost in thought, particularly intent on how pleased Peter was going to be, when he noticed a young woman crossing the road, pushing a stroller.

Sylar stopped, staring at her in amazement. His first thought was that it wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be her; she was dead. But then he remembered that this was a parallel universe. Nathan was still alive, so why not her?

However, he didn’t think a reunion was a good idea. If Gabriel Gray existed here too, he might still be involved with Elle, or they might have parted acrimoniously, or any number of other things that Sylar didn’t want to get involved in. He was about to continue on his way when she turned to look at him.

“Gabriel?”

Her blue eyes were wide with astonishment. Over the years, especially during the near decade stranded in his mind, his memories of Elle had faded. It was something that hurt more than the knowledge he had extinguished her life; he had obliterated her very memory.

But now she was real, standing before him and only a couple of years older than she had been on the beach. Just looking at her made his entire body ache with regret. He had forgotten how petite she was, all in proportion, but tiny and doll-like compared to his own ungainly frame. She still wore her blonde hair in bangs, little hoop earrings in her ears, a pretty blouse under her light jacket. He remembered the first time he had seen her, how she had held him after pulling the noose from his neck. God, that was a lifetime ago.

Elle’s face lit up with a smile for a moment, but it faded rapidly. She manoeuvred the stroller towards him, her expression murderous. Sylar decided that he wouldn’t resist if she wanted to zap him.

“You died. I saw your body burn!” she exclaimed. He could see her fists twitching, no doubt itching to blast him. “If you’ve been hiding all this time, you son of a bitch, I swear--”

“I’m not your Gabriel Gray,” he blurted out. The hurt in her expression was too much to bear. “I’m Sylar from a different reality. I got an ability that allows me to shift into parallel universes.”

It occurred to him as he spoke that this might be a universe where they didn’t have powers. On the other hand, the newspaper had mentioned Claire Bennet and the “specials” so it couldn’t be different to that extent.

Elle’s expression softened a fraction. Her fists uncurled; Sylar noticed a wedding ring on her left hand as she held on to the stroller again. All Sylar’s abilities told him that Elle was still tense, though, as if seeing him brought back bad memories. Maybe this was a universe where he hadn’t done such a thorough job of murdering her but had tried nonetheless.

“Bwabamaba,” said the baby in the stroller before they could resume their awkward conversation. Just for added effect, it tossed a shoe onto the sidewalk.

Elle picked up the shoe and fussed over the baby, rearranging his blanket unnecessarily. Sylar had noticed that was a common reaction; the slightest attention to their child, and parents felt the need to touch them, as if to assert their pride and ownership. He had to admit that she had a cute baby.

“Hey, buddy,” said Sylar, leaning down. The baby went silent and looked up at him with big brown eyes. Sylar ruffled the shock of fine light hair curling on top of his head. “I’m just talking to your Mommy for a minute, and then you can have her back, okay?”

Sylar caught Elle’s eye as he straightened up. The look he intercepted before she lowered her eyes made his heart sink. He froze, staring at Elle and the child, half hoping that he was wrong. He was tempted for a moment to read her mind, to know for sure, but then decided he perhaps didn’t need to know the truth. This wasn’t his world. It was none of his business.

“So, uh, did the eclipse happen in your universe?” asked Elle, her composure regained and her tone light. “I mean the one last year.”

“Yeah. We were… we were together,” said Sylar.

It had been so many years that he had no clear recollection of the feeling of her skin on his as she straddled him on the cold wooden floor. Sylar remembered it happening and he remembered that it didn’t last long; his dislocated shoulder ached and he hadn’t had sex in forever and even without powers, he could sense that Elle didn’t really want their first time to be like that. She had moved fast and kept her eyes locked on his so intensely that it was almost enough on its own to finish their tryst. Then they talked and it turned out Bennet had been watching all along, just gentleman enough to wait until they were finished before he started shooting.

“Yes, we were together,” said Elle, and he knew even without reading her mind that things had gone the same way in this universe.

“Did Bennet kill me in the warehouse?”

Elle nodded. Sylar could see the pain in her eyes and it was like a knife plunged into his gut. He didn’t deserve to be remembered with regret; not the way he had treated her in his own past.

“He killed me too, but he was worried about Claire and he didn’t use the kill spot,” said Sylar. “I came back to life when the eclipse ended.”

He did remember that; coming to with his T-shirt covered in blood and Elle weeping beside him. He had been so angry at Bennet for killing him when he’d been trying to be good. Now, of course, Nathan’s influence and the years with Peter made him understand he had deserved to die. He’d just let Elle goad him into murdering that guy at the rental place after all; maybe that was when he first understood that there would be no happy ending for him and Elle.

“So what happened then?” asked Elle. She smiled sheepishly. “Did we live happily ever after?”

“You died.”

 _Coward!_ Every ounce of conscience in his miserable penitent mind screamed, daring him to tell this poor young woman the truth. But he couldn’t. She had loved him, she had mourned him, and some little shred of decency said that her fond memories should be left alone.

Unnerved by that revelation, Elle wrung her hands, playing with her wedding ring. Sylar could tell it was recent, still shining bright on her slim finger, another man’s mark of ownership on the beautiful woman who could have been his. He decided he wouldn’t ask; she would tell him in her own time, if at all.

“Look, you wanna grab a coffee?” she said suddenly. “Or I guess… I guess you should be getting back.”

“Yes, someone’s waiting for me. He’ll be worried.” Sylar said it and he meant it, but his feet stayed glued to the spot. “But I-- I’d like to talk. I’d love a coffee.”

A coffee; that was innocent enough. She probably meant to take him to a café and reminisce about her Gabriel over a latte. He wouldn’t have to contribute much to the conversation and then they would go their separate ways and all would go back to normal. So why did he feel as though he was cheating already?

“I need to take Noah to the sitter first,” said Elle, pushing the stroller purposefully up the street. “I don’t go to work until 3.00 pm on Tuesdays but I like to have a little ‘me’ time first.”

Sylar followed. “Noah? That’s… ironic.”

Elle gave Sylar a sharp look, her pointed chin pushed out in anger. “No more ironic than his father killing… Look, Noah Bennet was good to me after you died. I had nowhere to go when Peter killed Arthur. The Bennets took me in.”

 _No more ironic than his father killing his grandfather,_ thought Sylar, filling in the blank in Elle’s interrupted response. Noah’s father murdering his grandfather just days before he was conceived. Still, Bob Bishop was one of the few people Sylar had killed who really deserved it; like Arthur Petrelli, his was not a murder that tormented Sylar at night.

The sitter lived in a building nearby. The elevator was broken and Sylar helped Elle to manoeuvre the stroller up the stairs. He tried to tell himself that the baby wasn’t his; he was the son of the Sylar who had died in this reality, not his own child. But the heart wrenching pull of what might have been brought his eyes repeatedly back to the child’s round happy face.

Baby Noah bore the genes of Samson Gray and Bob Bishop, and of their nearly nameless, long dead wives, who were barely even ghosts of a memory to their damaged offspring. And yet, the genes of a serial killer and a diagnosed sociopath had combined to create something so perfect and innocent, so full of potential and yet doomed already by his ancestry. What if Noah had IA, the power that turned people into murderers?

While they waited for the sitter to answer the door, Elle picked Noah out of his stroller. Without thinking, Sylar raised his arms and took the baby from her.

He breathed in the scent of baby lotions and mashed up food, amazed at the feeling of the little body in his arms. Noah was rigid with the effort of keeping his head up to look around at the world, eyebrows raised as if to make his eyes larger to take it all in. Sylar remembered how Nathan had felt when he held his baby sons for the first time. Now the emotion was his, and it didn’t matter if his brain told him the child wasn’t his son; his heart had its own opinion.

Sylar brushed his lips against the soft short hair on the baby’s head, hardly noticing when the sitter opened the door and stared at him. He returned to reality and handed the baby over.

“I’ll be back at the usual time,” said Elle.

The woman nodded. “No problem. I’ll see you later, Mrs Petrelli.”

Elle glanced at Sylar; she clearly hadn’t intended to tell him. Sylar didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He fought back the hysterical laughter bubbling in his throat and merely smiled instead.

“I actually live just upstairs,” said Elle. “I’ll fix you some coffee before I go to work.”

Too fascinated by the bizarre symmetry in their lives, Sylar followed her up the stairs without much thought as to why she was taking him to her home.

“You’re married to Peter Petrelli,” he stated when they walked into Elle’s -- Elle and Peter’s -- apartment.

“You have no idea what it’s been like since you died,” said Elle defensively. She removed her jacket; there was a white stain on the left shoulder of her blouse. “The Company collapsed, that son of a bitch Nathan set the goddamn government after us and we were hunted like animals. Peter fought with me. Noah protected us. We… I… We got close. Peter and me. He knows about Noah and it doesn’t matter to him. Peter Petrelli is a good man, Gabriel.”

“Trust me, I know,” said Sylar, a warm happy feeling flooding his chest at the mention of Peter’s name. “I love him.”

Elle didn’t seem to catch his meaning. “Yeah, I guess… since he’s your brother, right.”

Sylar’s ears rang and he loathed the irrational surge of anger that welled inside him. This was how it had all begun. Elle’s lie; going along with the Petrellis’ sick plan when she knew perfectly well that Sylar wasn’t their son. He took a deep breath; his eight year punishment had taught him to control his anger, but it was still there, always burning under the surface, threatening to overwhelm him once again.

“Peter isn’t my brother,” he said finally. “I was never a Petrelli and you know that. You…” He struggled, instinctively itching to use his abilities to relieve the tension within. Ironically, he could feel sparks just about to rise from his fingertips. He breathed in, centring his emotions before he continued. “You knew all along.”

Elle shot him the same wounded look she’d had in Costa Verde, when she first realised that he knew she’d been lying to him, and perhaps understood that her fate was sealed. She had seemed resigned on the beach…

“I thought…” she started. “Once they’d told you that and you seemed so… happy, I thought you’d hate me if I told you. Your dad was a criminal, a killer; someone my dad hunted but never caught. Your mom worked for the Company. I guess she ran away with him. Or maybe he kidnapped her. I don’t know. I only know what Dad said.”

Sylar nodded mutely. Really, he didn’t care about his parents anymore. He’d met his dad, his mom was dead. The apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree. Sylar had murdered his girlfriend, the mother of his child, just like his dad had killed his mom. Oh, Gabriel was Samson Gray’s apple all right.

Sylar felt grateful that his son might never know about any of that. Provided Elle stayed with her husband, Noah would be raised by a good man and could rise above his defective gene pool. God knew Peter had.

“Is decaf okay?”

Sylar frowned at Elle for a moment. Right, she was talking about coffee. “Yeah, sure.”

“I’m still feeding Noah, so I have to stay off the stimulants. Caffeine is supposed to be bad for babies.”

Sylar followed her into the kitchen and watched Elle busying herself making them both mugs of instant coffee. They had never had this before, a moment of quiet normality in their crazy lives. Not since she brought him baked ziti at least; he wondered who had actually made that.

“I can’t believe it’s you,” said Elle, her eyes focused on what she was doing. “It was so damn ironic, you know. We’d finally got together and I thought ‘wow, this is it, I’ve got him after all’ and then there was Bennet shooting at us and then you were dead in that warehouse. All this time, I’ve been wishing…” She looked up at Sylar with unmistakable admiration. “Well, you know. It’s been tough with the pregnancy and everything.”

Not wanting to catch her eye, Sylar turned away and looked at the pictures in the living room. He recognised the black and white photograph of Peter with Nathan, the brothers smiling like lovers at the camera. Most of the pictures were more recent; Elle and Peter on their wedding day, surrounded by the Bennets and Petrellis. Peter looked insultingly happy. It practically hurt to see him beaming at the camera with a heavily pregnant Elle by his side.

Elle had Peter, beautiful, good Peter Petrelli, and she pined for Gabriel Gray?

“Noah Bennet put a screwdriver in your skull and I couldn’t get it out. I tried so hard to get it out!” she said. “But then the Company’s cleanup team arrived and next time I saw you was when they burned your body on an open pyre.”

Elle’s eyes were dry but her voice was unsteady. Sylar could see the pain she had gone through, imagining what might have been if only she had been quicker. He wanted to tell her the truth about what had happened when he didn’t die, but the words stuck in his throat.

“The Bennets -- Claire and her mom and brother -- they helped me when I lost control of my powers after you attacked me,” continued Elle. “So I went to find them again and they took me in.”

“They’re good people,” said Sylar. “Well, not Noah Bennet, but the rest of his family. After everything I did to her, Claire… well, she tolerates me. She’s a good person.”

“Here.” Elle handed him the coffee.

They moved into the living room. Elle sat beside Sylar on the couch and before he had time to react, her hand was on his face, stroking his rough stubble. Sylar caught her wrist and pulled her hand away.

“You’re married,” he said. “And I’m not available either.”

“I’ve dreamed of this,” she said, her eyes bright. “Of getting a chance to see you and explain. To say how sorry I am that I lied to you. I made you into a monster, and I let Arthur manipulate you because… because I thought it made you happy.”

Sylar shook his head in rhythm with the ability rattling his senses. He let go of Elle’s hand, afraid he might hurt her if he gave into the dull anger raging within.

“I have to warn you, Elle. I have Sue Landers’ ability.” He pointed to his temple. “Every lie and bam, I get this rattling feeling inside my head.”

Elle looked shocked. “You killed Sue? But she’s really nice!”

“Well, I’m from a universe where she’d dead and I’m not. A universe where a lot of people are dead.” Sylar moved away from Elle. “Don’t apologise. I know you lied to me. I guess it was all about belonging. You never knew anything but the Company. When Angela kicked you out, you latched onto Arthur. You went along with their lies because that’s how you were brought up.”

Elle didn’t respond for a while; Sylar guessed he had struck a nerve. She picked up a rattle lying on the floor and threw it angrily towards the playpen in the corner; it missed, bouncing off the frame onto the floor. Sylar threw it in with a flick of his wrist.

“I’ve changed,” she said finally. “I don’t care about authority figures now. All that matters is Noah and Pe-- that’s all that matters.”

“Peter is quite something,” said Sylar with a chuckle, placated by Elle’s honesty. He looked up at their wedding photo, unable to suppress a tender smile. “Always on the lookout for someone to save. I guess he found a pet project in every universe.”

“Why, who is he with in your universe?” asked Elle, her tone unmistakably jealous.

“Me.”

Elle frowned, evidently unable to wrap her mind around that piece of information. She opened her mouth, then shut it again. Sylar guessed he needed to be clearer.

“Peter’s my boyfriend, Elle. We live together. We… sleep together.”

There; that had to be clear enough. Sylar had made that announcement more than a few times since Peter and he had decided they were serious enough to come out, but the glee that he usually felt was absent this time. Elle looked upset.

“How long have you been gay?” she asked aggressively, as if this was a personal affront. “And wait a minute, Peter’s gay too? What am I, a fag magnet?”

Her reaction surprised him, but Sylar realised that for all the passion they had shared, he had never got to know Elle all that well. A couple of days back when he was Gabriel Gray and she was playing the girl next door; another day when Arthur Petrelli hooked them up. And yet, until he spent five years trapped with Peter, this had been the most significant relationship of his life.

His eyes drifted to a photograph of baby Noah; it was even more than a significant relationship to Elle. Maybe he shouldn’t begrudge her the pining for what might have been, or her shock at discovering that he was involved with a man -- the man she had married, no less. Now he thought about it, he could see why she was upset.

“Elle…” he started, though he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“I’m not saying it wouldn’t be kind of hot if it wasn’t so freaking gross,” continued Elle as if he hadn’t spoken. “I mean I’ve slept with both of you and you-- you screw each other! And you…” She paused to look at him. “You know what, I get that you’re gay now I think about it. When we first met, you were living alone in that big apartment; the only person you hung out with was your mom. It kind of makes sense…”

“Yeah, everyone’s gaydar is 100% in hindsight,” said Sylar, who was sick of people telling him they’d known all along; especially people like Claire and Maya, who obviously wouldn’t have been so freaked out by him if they’d sensed homosexuality in their predator.

Elle gave him a look and continued. “You, I can buy. Kind of difficult to work out if you were into it under the circumstances. But Peter? I’m _married_ to him! I-I’d be able to tell!”

“Don’t worry. Peter isn’t gay,” said Sylar, lowering his eyes. “He won’t run off with some rent boy. Not unless there’s some serious redeeming to do. It was… circumstantial.”

Sylar levitated the cup of coffee into his hand and tried to push down the panic that arose whenever he thought of Peter’s true feelings for him. Peter appeared happy with the sex and embraced the side effects of living with a man with gusto, even demanding that they visit the occasional gay bar. But Sylar remained convinced that some day, some pretty girl with childbearing hips would waltz into their lives and steal Peter away. Then he would once again be facing eternity with Claire; a prospect he no longer relished.

“So he’s just gay for you?” There was amusement in Elle’s pretty features now that the first flush of anger had passed. “Shit. I don’t know what to say, Gabriel. I’ve spent the last year imagining what might have happened if you hadn’t died… that wasn’t what I imagined.”

“It wouldn’t have happened,” said Sylar confidently. He knew what she wanted to hear. “If we’d both lived, things would have been different.”

Elle looked up at him with her bright blue eyes. “Really? With you as gay as a pack of sailors?”

For some reason, the expression made him laugh. Holding the cup, Sylar wondered if he ‘acted gay’ now. He had always subconsciously conformed to the expectations of whatever role he inhabited at any given time. As a watchmaker, he had worn tweed and corrected his mild myopia with glasses. As a serial killer, he had worn black, abandoned the glasses and adopted a more aggressive persona.

Claire had accused him of “mincing” only the previous day and seemed to think that the more colourful garments he had acquired recently were signs that he was turning “flamboyantly gay”. On the other hand, Claire was in the habit of needling him at every opportunity; he let her have her pound of flesh as penance for his sins.

“What we had wasn’t a lie,” he told Elle. “You’re beautiful. I wanted you.”

“I damn sure hope so, or you were doing a great job faking it, mister!”

That made Sylar blush. He remembered the hard floor in Canfield’s house and all the blood not collecting in his cheeks rushed downward. He moved away and hoped the thick denim of his jeans would hide his reaction from Elle.

“I kind of forgot what a sweet, handsome guy you were. Under all the facial hair, that is,” said Elle, trying to make her heartfelt comment into a joke. “They don’t have razors in your universe?”

She had moved closer again, pursuing him inch by inch across the couch. Sylar’s irrational arousal echoed the beating of his heart. Her lips were parted and her untrue blue eyes were sparkling with mischief.

In his mind’s eye, over the years, her image had become blurred with Claire’s, but he now realised that they were nothing alike. Elle’s features were strong and angular where Claire was soft and round, and somewhere just beneath the pretty girl surface, Sylar could still see the trace of a killer. He could feel the sadistic pleasure they had once shared at killing the rental car guy just for the heck of it.

If she moved any closer, he was going to kiss her, Peter be damned in any universe.

“I murdered you,” he said.

Elle pulled back and the killer disappeared. She was once again the mother of his child, and Peter’s wife.

“Why?”

“Because you lied to me,” he explained. He lowered his eyes. “I found out just after the eclipse, and I killed you. That was it. The end of us.”

He didn’t want to expound on the subject and dredge up the painful memories of that moment of madness. He had been depressed, his ever fragile mental state unbalanced by the murder and the sex and the death and the regeneration and the trip to Costa Verde and the lies and the sudden teleport to that god forsaken beach. Elle had flinched when he touched her and he snapped.

“Wow,” said Elle and for a long moment she was silent, drinking her coffee as she processed the information.

Sylar let the guilt consume and extinguish his arousal. He wished he could kneel before her as he had done in that cell at Pinehearst and let her electrocute the hell out of him. That had felt like retribution; less effective than eight years trapped in his own mind, but a more tangible punishment than mental torture. He somehow doubted that this Elle would go in for that sort of thing anymore.

“What did you do after that?” she asked.

“I used your cellphone to find more people to kill. Tracked down my real dad and watched him dying of cancer for a couple of hours. Teamed up with Danko to kill more specials…” He could see the horror on her face at that revelation; she had mentioned being a fugitive, so she knew about Building 26. “I murdered Nathan Petrelli,” he continued.

“Oh, so it wasn’t all bad, then,” said Elle wryly. She glanced at the picture of the Petrelli brothers. “Brother-in-law from hell. I kinda wish I could kill him myself.”

Sylar smiled. “That’s when it all changed. Angela ordered Parkman to make me believe I was Nathan. I can shape shift,” he explained as he realised Elle wouldn’t know that. “She said she did it because she wanted to keep her son, but I think she just chose the worst revenge she could think of; to make me believe I was the man I’d murdered, to feel everything he felt, to live his life… Well, it was a bit more complicated than that.”

He tried to explain how part of his consciousness had ended up tied to Parkman’s body and gave her the barest details of Parkman’s revenge and how it had brought him close to Peter. He said nothing about Claire or Lydia, or the way Elle’s death always featured prominently in his memories of killing.

“Eight years trapped in your own mind,” said Elle. “So it’s been a long time for you.”

She was still talking about when they had sex. Something about her wistful expression tugged at his empathic senses in a way that made his insides churn unpleasantly. Even after his revelation, Elle remembered Sylar with regret, her mind caught on what might have been.

“We would never have had all this,” he said abruptly, indicating the apartment decorated with baby and wedding photographs. “Things would have been different, but not like this. That day we were together, we brought out the worst in each other.”

“That was then,” said Elle passionately. “With Arthur and Noah interfering. You don’t know this, but you brought out the best in me when we first met. I’d never felt compassion for anyone. I was a diagnosed sociopath. I saw people like things, means to an end. But then I met you, Gabriel Gray, hanging in your dark little shop, and you asked me to forgive you. You saw me as your angel and I wanted to be that for you. When you kicked me out and killed again, it hurt so much that I decided not to care anymore.” Elle glanced at her wedding photo and smiled. “I kept to it, too, until I fell in love with Peter. And obviously, Noah is a complete game changer.”

“I can imagine,” said Sylar, remembering the baby’s soft hair brushing his lips. He was too troubled by her recollection of their first meeting to dwell on it immediately; the idea that he could have inspired anyone to want to be better just didn’t make sense.

“What about you?”

She was asking him to share his feelings. He was a man; even homosexual men didn’t express their feelings the way women did. Sylar’s mind went blank for a moment until words formed at last.

“When I met you, I wanted to be content as a humble watchmaker after what I did to that man. I didn’t think it was possible; that was why I tried to kill myself.” He sighed and ran his hands through his long hair. “But then you walked into my life and I thought maybe I would be insignificant and still have the… romance I craved. But it turned out the only reason you were in my life was because of that damned ability and because I was a killer.”

“We could have been good people,” said Elle wistfully. “If I hadn’t brought Zeitlan to you… I told Noah I didn’t want to do it, but he threatened to have me kicked out of the Company so in the end, I did it anyway.”

“I’d sworn I would never kill again and I did it anyway.” Sylar shook his head. “There’s no point torturing yourself over what might have been. With all the damage our… my parents did to me, I didn’t really stand a chance. I could only ever drag you down, Elle. We’re… I’m damaged goods.”

Damn. That was what he said to her last time. Sylar went silent and warmed his cup with his hand. Elle said nothing for a while.

“Do you regret killing me?” she asked finally.

Sylar nodded. “Yes.”

Elle turned towards him, moving closer. Sylar had reached his end of the couch; the only escape was to stand up but he remained seated. Elle traced patterns on his chest; Sylar could feel the touch pulsing through his veins, fuelling his latent arousal through the thin material of his shirt and vest. He was too tall for her to reach his lips unaided but he could tell she was angling for a kiss. Her hand curled around his neck, trying to pull him down but he resisted.

“Don’t,” he said weakly, hating the unconvincing tone of his voice and the clear evidence that his body at least was enthusiastic.

“You were the love of my life,” she said, a sadistic smile quirking her pretty lips as she held him and -- oh god -- _zapped_ the back of his neck. He had forgotten how good that pain felt. “You died on me, you asshole. You owe me!”

The pain combined with the strength of her emotions flooding in through his empathic abilities threw any thought of caution to the wind. Sylar pulled her close and kissed her. She had been his dream of normality, a regret he had suffered for nine years. He did think he owed her.

He’d forgotten the taste of cosmetics and the softness of stubble-free skin; the ease of penetration when the pieces fit, awkwardly as he was so much taller but still so easy with Elle so impassioned for him. The couch was more comfortable than Canfield’s floor, Elle lighter than Peter when he pulled her on top of him, and it brought the memories flooding back; the taste of her lips, the pain in his shoulder, the sweet agony of release and the first time he thought he might get away with it, leave his killing ways behind and ride off into the sunset, a hero with his girl at his side.

They were completely naked. She laughed when he sucked at one small breast and started in surprised at the sweet milk that filled his mouth. Elle pressed her other breast hard with the heel of her hand and held his head in place as he drank, almost bent double, but aroused beyond belief by this unexpected experience.

Then her mood changed when he lay down again and grabbed her hips, urging her to move faster. He could feel Elle’s anger, maybe because she hated her Gabriel for letting Bennet kill him, or perhaps because she too felt guilty about what they were doing to Peter. She electrocuted him when he was close and the pain gnawed his body as his mind wallowed in guilt and he came with a loud groan.

Like the first time, he had no idea if Elle had enjoyed it; Nathan’s memories as a more experienced lover suggested that she probably hadn’t. He flipped Elle onto her back and buried his face between her legs, trusting his abilities to make up for knowledge and inclination. It worked. She zapped him again, not as hard as he wanted, but enough to make him cry out anyway.

Sylar held Elle in his arms for a few minutes afterwards, neither of them saying a word while Peter’s presence hovered over them in the room filled with his image.

“I need to go,” said Sylar finally, when he felt that enough time had elapsed to avoid him looking like a complete asshole.

“You could stay,” said Elle.

He got out off the couch and started to dress before she could hold him back. “No. This isn’t my world.”

“Oh, screw that! Gabriel, you told me yourself that everyone hates you there. You could be with me and Noah. We could be a family.”

“No, we couldn’t,” he said tersely, zipping up his jeans. “I don’t deserve this. Neither do you. You deserve to be with a man who didn’t murder you.”

Elle sat on the edge of the couch, naked except for her wedding ring and earrings. “But you didn’t! I’m fine.”

“Yeah, but I’m not! I-I remember what I did to you, Elle. I’ll always remember slicing your head and watching your body grow cold…” He saw Elle’s eyes widen, but his vision was blurry. He wiped his eyes with irritation. “I set fire to your corpse and watched… watched it burn. Your skin, your flesh… We couldn’t be together, Elle. I’d always know I was the kind of man who could do that to the woman who loved him.”

He blinked and hunted around for his shirt. “And you shouldn’t leave him. Peter doesn’t deserve this. He’s a good man.”

“I know,” said Elle. She wrapped her blouse around her. “He isn’t you, but he’s-- I guess he’s the man I thought you might be.”

Sylar smiled at that description. Given all his ins and outs with Peter over the years, maybe that was true. Or maybe not. Peter had risen above his parentage and Sylar had sunk to the lowest depths of his. They were polar opposites.

There didn’t seem that much to say after that. They exchanged some small talk about the way back to the warehouse and Elle needing to go to work; Sylar realised later that he didn’t even find out what she did. He was about to leave when she handed him a small photograph of Noah; Sylar slid it into his pocket. Elle smiled up at him, perhaps hoping for a goodbye kiss, but Sylar just cupped her face for a moment and left before he could make things worse.

He eyed the sitter’s closed door as he walked downstairs, but resisted the temptation to knock and demand another few seconds with Noah. If it was his destiny, maybe some day he’d have a son in his own universe, but if not, he would only have himself to blame for that fateful day when he’d murdered the potential mother of his child.

* * * * *

Peter was sitting on the floor in the warehouse, drinking a coffee and reading a comic. Sylar stood where the portal had dropped him for a moment, admiring Peter’s Roman nose and delicate features. Peter looked up and smiled.

“Hey, you’re back,” he said, standing up. “I thought you’d never come.”

It annoyed Sylar that such an anodyne expression made his ears ring. He tossed the newspaper from the alternate reality at Peter. It occurred to him a split second too late that Peter might be upset to find that Nathan was still alive there.

Sylar’s empathy detected a pang of longing in his emotions when Peter read about his brother, but he didn’t say anything, so neither did Sylar.

“A parallel universe,” said Peter when Sylar explained. “Interesting.”

He moved closer to Sylar, but took a step back when he got too near. There was an awkward moment while Peter debated whether to say anything. Sylar felt embarrassment and shame colour his face as he realised that Peter could tell what he had done; he hadn’t showered before leaving Elle’s apartment. The guilt at having betrayed Peter twice over hit his gut like a punch.

“It was Elle,” he said simply. “I died. Nathan and Elle lived. She… we had a son.” He pulled the photo out of his pocket. “Noah.”

Their fingers brushed as Peter took the picture. Sylar opened his mind to his lover’s feelings; anger and betrayal, but also understanding. How typical of Peter to understand. But the emotion that really puzzled Sylar was the fear underlying Peter’s feelings. What did Peter have to fear?

“You were married to her,” continued Sylar. “I realise that makes what happened kind of ironic.”

“What, that you both had me and still preferred each other?” snapped Peter. He swallowed and looked down at the picture he was holding. “This is something I can’t give you. That future I saw. You were so happy with your son. Elle’s son. Some day, I guess you’ll be over your guilt and you’ll find someone who can give you that.”

Sylar stared at him. “You think I’ll leave you for a woman?”

“You’ve only been gone an hour.” Peter handed back the photograph of Noah. “I can tell what you did. What am I supposed to think?”

“I came back to you.”

Peter remained silent and Sylar’s heart sank. He relied so heavily on Peter’s support to guide him through this new phase in his life that the thought of losing that comfort made him feel sick. Sylar could also sense Peter’s own anguish at the thought of ending the relationship. Peter had gone against everything he believed in to be with Sylar; overcoming his Catholic upbringing, the fact that everyone knew Sylar had murdered his beloved brother, the enduring homophobia of a society not yet reconciled to the love between two men. Peter would be devastated if he had fought for nothing.

Without warning, Peter grabbed Sylar’s hand. He could never tell exactly what power Peter was taking but Sylar guessed which one would interest him this time.

“Did she want you to stay?” demanded Peter.

“Yes.”

“Then why didn’t you stay?”

“Peter, I couldn’t do that to you,” said Sylar. He swore under his breath when Peter flinched and corrected himself. “I didn’t want to do that to you. Besides, I guess I need to do more penance before I deserve that kind of happy end.”

Peter nodded grimly, apparently satisfied that he had got the truth even if it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He turned his back on Sylar and headed for the door. Sylar leaned against a fraying concrete pillar and watched him go.

“I do love you, though,” he said, hardly expecting Peter to hear him.

It was hard to explain that the push of not deserving the life Elle offered had been stronger than the pull of returning to face Peter. But the least he could offer Peter was the truth. 

 


End file.
